


A Sense of Time

by ApolloLoki97



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl is a good uncle, Daryl is sad, Dog is a good boy, Gen, Post Rick leaving, Pre-whisperers, Reader Insert, Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25409821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApolloLoki97/pseuds/ApolloLoki97
Summary: Six years after Rick Grimes disappeared, Daryl is still out in the woods looking for him. One day he and Dog come across you and offer you some food. Sometimes all a person needs is a little human conversation to point them home.----Or you run into Daryl and offer some advice.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & You, Daryl Dixon & reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	A Sense of Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short little thing I had written in my book. I like to think that Daryl visited his niece and nephew a lot, but sometimes needed a bit of a reminder. I think he also just needs a little human interaction every once in a while. Not a ship post, just a little conversation. Thanks for reading!

Daryl Dixon had gotten used to the solitude the woods provided.

He had set out shortly after the bridge was blown out, determined to find his brother. He didn’t know if he would be able to find Rick Grimes alive, dead, or as a Walker. All he _did_ know was that he needed to bring him home for all of them, but especially for Michonne, Judith, and RJ, the son Rick never knew.

Six years he searched and after a while, it was just easier to stay away. Daryl still made the occasional trip to Hilltop for supplies and to check-in with Tara and Jesus. He knew he should go to Alexandria more. He knew Judith asked about him, RJ too, but he couldn’t face Michonne. After what happened with Jocelyn, the same weight bore down on both of them and if he couldn’t bring Rick back to her, he didn’t want to see her. 

It was mostly guilt on his part, even though he knew Rick had made the decision to stop the herd and protect the communities. He tried to save what they had all built together. Daryl couldn’t imagine what Rick would say if he knew how distant they all were now.

Maggie was gone, Alexandria was closed, Tara and Jesus rarely spoke to others, the Kingdom was falling apart, and Daryl wasn’t even sure what was happening over at Oceanside. Everything that Carl and Rick had wanted was now tearing at the seams, but Daryl knew it was going to happen. Nothing had been the same without either Grimes and everybody knew it. Hell, he figured even Negan knew it and the man was under lock and key.

But regardless, the world had to keep going.

Daryl walked through the woods, Dog at his side. He was on his way back to his makeshift camp after checking the traps when he heard a commotion coming through the trees.

Unsheathing his knives, Daryl moved silently. Dog kept right behind him, ready to move on his master’s command. The two had been hunting together for a while now and if Daryl couldn’t detect something sneaking up on them, Dog definitely could. 

Daryl moved closer to the noise. He identified it as fighting immediately. He rushed ahead, hoping it wasn’t anyone he knew. The last thing he needed was one of his family members getting attacked or bit while looking for him in the dense forest.

Coming up to a clearing, Daryl paused just inside the tree line and watched the scene before him. About ten or so Walkers were converging on a small form in the center of the small field. Just as he was about to take his bow from his shoulder, the Dead began dropping and he finally caught sight of you. 

Armed with a machete, you swung it in perfect arcs, cutting through the Dead like they were nothing. At this point in the Apocalypse, unless they were fresh, the Roamers, as you called them, were pretty much as brittle as sand. It didn’t take much force to take them out. 

It was nearly second nature to kill them. You swung and swung, keeping light on your feet as you were taught. Heads toppled to the ground and eventually, all that remained was a single Roamer that limped on a bony stump. Twirling your blade around in your hand, you circled it. It lunged at you, but you easily stepped out of the way.

“Here, boy,” you taunted with a whistle. You could only imagine what your grandmother would say if she saw you playing with the Dead, but you had been alone for almost two years now and you needed a little bit of fun, even though it was a tad sadistic. 

The Roamer snapped its jaws at you and soon you got bored. With a sigh, you swung your blade and took off its head, stopping the brain with your boot. Looking around at all the corpses, you got to work. You never understood why your grandmother had taught you to pile them up, but you always did it.

You thought it might be because it reminded her of a funeral pyre, just without the actual flames. Only a few times did you actually light them and that was when they were people you knew. Now it was too much of a risk to do so. It could not only attract more of the Dead but the Living too and that was the last thing you wanted. 

As you dragged the Roamers into the center of the clearing, two pairs of eyes watched on from the trees. Daryl was wary of you, but something told him that you were just a nomad. It wasn’t uncommon for the lone traveler to come through the woods. Most people had the same idea: head to the Capital. Not that there was much left of Washington, D.C., but people still had hope.

Dog sat by his side, leaning slightly against him. Daryl reached down and scratched the dog’s head. He watched as you piled up the bodies and then started to go through the pockets of the Dead. He knew a few people, both living and dead that would disagree with looting a corpse, but he himself had done it more times than he could count. It was a basic survival skill these days and if you were alone, it could save your life. 

You moved through the pile, looking for anything you could use. You found a new knife, an old book of matches, a bottle opener on a set of keys, and even a few bandannas you could use while walking through the more less-desirable areas. You grabbed it all and placed it in your backpack. 

Pulling out your water bottle, you took a long pull and then poured some on your head, relishing in the cool feeling of the Virginia heat. You then climbed on top of the pile and sat, watching your surroundings as you took a break. This was something else your grandmother would slap you for, but you knew there was one thing that kept the Dead away and that was the smell of more Dead.

The horrific stench of the Roamers had become an odd comfort for you. It made you more at ease while sleeping and if you were being honest, you started to feel more comfortable around them than you did people. The new world was doing strange things to you and at this point, you were happy to let it. 

Soon enough, though, you had to move on. Sliding off the pile, you grabbed your bag, sheathed your machete, and began moving towards the trees. The sun was going to start going down soon and you would need to keep moving if you were going to make it through the thick forest.

You headed towards the river, thinking it would be the easiest landmark to follow. The last thing you needed was to get lost in the middle of Virginia. With everything so overgrown and signs weathered, it was hard to even know what state you were in, let alone the city. Then there was the matter of direction. Grandma may have been all about free spirits and honoring the dead, but never once did she teach you how to find your way without a map. 

“Thanks, grandma,” you grumbled as you jumped over a rotted tree. A rustling sound came from your right and your hand went to your machete, but you relaxed when you saw four legs, two tall ears, a tail, and a black nose. “This day just keeps getting more interesting,” you said to the dog that approached you. 

The dog growled at you, showing its sharp canines. You put your hands on your hips and scowled at the creature. “Alright, boy,” you said, “normally I would kill any animal I came across, but you…” you trailed off, tilting your head, “I never thought I’d see a domestic dog like you, let alone one that wasn’t all ribs and feral teeth.” You reached out your hand when the dog barked and you jumped back. 

“Okay, not too trusting,” you said, “I get that. How about this? I go my way and you go yours and I don’t have to kill you. How’s that sound?” You asked and the damn dog growled back. 

“Dog!” You startled at the voice, cursing. The dog looped back towards a tree where a man stepped out from behind. This time, you hung onto the hilt of the machete as you took in the stranger. He was taller than you with long hair and scruffy facial hair that was half-hidden by a hood. Along his back was a large crossbow and you knew a man like that had to have more weapons on him.

When he moved closer to you, took another step back, tripping slightly. He put his hands up. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya, girl,” he said slowly. You watched as he kept his distance, but got close enough to where you could see him a bit better. He pulled down his hood and shook out his hair a bit.

“What do you want?” You asked, keeping an eye on his hands. 

“Yer the one walkin’ into my camp,” he pointed out. He nodded behind him and just through the trees you could see a fire pit, tent, and what looked like some hand-carved spears. 

“Please tell me you’re not some psycho who strings people up in trees,” you said, grimacing. The man raised a brow and shook his head slowly.

“What kind of company you keep?” He asked, but you figured it was more of a rhetorical question. Your gaze gifted back to the dog at the stranger’s side. 

“He yours?” You asked. The man nodded. He then picked up a stick and held it aloft. 

“Dog, go!” He yelled, throwing the stick back towards camp. The canine took off at full speed, happily barking after his prize. 

“You named the dog, Dog?” You asked. The stranger shrugged. 

“Didn’t know his name,” he rationalized. You pursed your lips, rocking awkwardly on your heels. 

“So if you’re not gonna hang me from a tree or let your dog take a bite…” you trailed off, pointing over your shoulder. 

“Where ya headed?” He asked. 

“I’m lookin’ for someone. Figured I would head downriver. Guess I’ll find out one way or another.” 

“Yeah, I get that,” he said, chewing on the side of his thumb. “Ya hungry?” He asked. You hesitated. “Just fish, girl, ain’t gonna be anything special.” You thought about it for a moment before nodding. He jerked his head towards camp and you followed. 

“The name’s (Y/N), by the way, not ‘girl’,” you said, catching up to him.

“Daryl,” he responded. 

“Nice to meet ya, Daryl,” you acknowledged. He grunted in response causing you to chuckle. Daryl lead you back to his camp and as he got to work on cleaning the fish he had caught earlier, you took a turn about the area. 

Everything from the tent to the small weapons area screamed survivor. You could tell that he had been out there long, but he also knew how to live within the trees. These were the kind of people you liked. The ones that knew what they were doing and just lived rather than trying to hunt the weak or take advantage of other people. Daryl seemed like good one. He also didn’t seem scared of living out and around the Dead. “Get many Dead ones, ‘round here?” You asked. He looked at you. 

“Got traps set up,” he said, slicing open the fish next to a fire he began to stoke. “Dog keeps ‘em away.” 

“Bet he does,” you said, smiling fondly at the mutt as he chewed happily on the stick Daryl had given him. Sitting down by the fire, you let your joints feel proper heat for the first time in weeks. You watched Daryl work on your dinner for a while, watching as he used his knives. Just by the way he cooked, you knew he was a skilled fighter. 

“Where ya comin’ from?” Daryl asked suddenly. Leaning back against one of the stumps, you sighed. 

“Kind of everywhere,” you said, “I was using the highways, you know, trying to keep some sort of route. Then I kept running into trouble so I headed into the woods.” 

“What kind of trouble?” He asked, his brow furrowed.

“Just the occasional asshole who thinks I’m an easy target. A lot of people out there lookin’ to steal, kill, etc. Figured I’d be safer out here considering most people don’t risk entering the trees, fear of the Dead, and all that.”

“Smart people,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his lips.

“What does that make us?” You asked. 

“Used to it,” he said in a low voice. 

“Used to what?”

“The fucked up world,” he said simply. 

“That is the most accurate thing I have heard in weeks, Daryl,” you said, raising your imaginary glass. Daryl shook his head and went back to cooking the food. “Are there many people around? I’d rather not have to go deeper into the woods.”

“There are people,” he said, serving up a piece of fish to you in a metal dish. “A couple of communities. But they’re good people, won’t mess with ya if yer friendly.” You snorted at that. 

“If they’re anything like the last community I ran across, I’ll make sure to keep out of their line of sight before they try to make me a full course meal and offer me five-star stay,” you said, remembering the young boy you met not that long ago.

“Where was that?” Daryl asked.

“A couple of days walk from here,” you said, “that way.” You pointed over your shoulder. “There was this kid, he was out in the woods around the walls. I was looking for water and we ran into each other.” You laughed at the memory. “Kid nearly knocked me on my ass with that stick of his. Thought I was an intruder or something. Anyways, he invited me back to his ‘Kingdom’, but I had to move on. The whole walls and leader thing isn’t really for me.” You finished and went back to your dinner, but Daryl had paused. “What?” You asked as he stared at you. 

“Ya were at the Kingdom?” He asked. 

“Wait, that’s the actual name?” You laughed, “okay then I owe stick-boy an apology. I thought he was just screwin’ with me.” 

“Nah, it’s a real place. Run by two good people. The kid with the stick is their son.”

“You know them?” Daryl nodded. “Well, next time you see them, tell them a passing traveler thinks their kid is a total badass.” This got a small smile from Daryl. 

“Why don’t ya like walls?” 

“Why don’t you?” you asked, turning it back on him. 

“Never said I didn’t,” he said with a challenging look. You raised your hands in surrender. 

“I just prefer to not be locked down, I guess,” you finally answered. “Easier that way.” 

“Ya lost somebody?” he asked, guessing by the tone of your voice. 

“My whole group, actually,” you said. “I was on watch in a tree one night and I didn’t hear the Roamers enter the camp. I was so tired and I…” you sighed again, picking at the fish. “Anyways, they all died, including my grandmother, and I had to move on.”

“Sorry ‘bout yer people,” he said. 

“Thanks.” It was quiet after that. You didn’t know if bringing up your dead family was a good idea, but then again, Daryl was a complete stranger. Who cared what he knew. You weren’t going to see him again anyways. “You got family besides the mutt?” you asked. Daryl leaned back on his forearms, kicking rocks into the fire. He nodded.

“They’re around,” he said and then paused as if he was unsure about sharing more. You waited patiently. Finally, he turned his face towards the rickety boat that sat on the water’s edge. “Got a niece and nephew too. Good kids.” It was subtle, but when he mentioned them, you could see a light in his eyes even when they were slightly turned away from you. They clearly meant a lot to him. 

“Kids,” you said, “they grow up so fast. Don’t wait too long to see them again.” Daryl looked back at you and nodded. You hoped that was taking your words to heart. “Besides, maybe they can convince you to cut that thing on your head.” Daryl raised his eyebrows at you. 

“Ya know me for all of an hour and yer judgin’,” he said, messing with his long hair. 

“Once you share a dirty fish with someone, they instantly become your friend. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

“Who made that rule?” he asked. 

“I don’t know, probably Aristotle or George Bush. Who cares? It’s gospel now.” You popped another piece of fish into your mouth and licked your fingers. 

“What did you do before the Turn?” he asked after a moment.

“High school,” you said, finishing your food. “Imagine that. One day I was sitting in Calculus class and the next thing I know my teacher is stumbling through the room trying to eat the assistant principal.” Daryl whistled low at that. 

“Yer folks?”

“Both out of the country when the outbreak began. They were pilots. Dad was in China and Mom was in South Africa. Not sure what happened to them. Gran pretty much raised me so I stuck with her for as long as possible. Then, well, you know,” you said, referring back to the other story.

“Ya don’t seem to carry the weight of their deaths,” Daryl observed, handing you a cup of water. You placed the metal mug in your hands, watching the flames flicker in the dark. 

“Don’t really have the time, you know? Can’t think about it. The way I see it, the world killed them as it died. Nobody’s fault, just the way it is now.” 

“Doesn’t have to be,” he said, sitting all the way up. “Kingdom isn’t the only place ‘round here that has walls and people and a place to sleep. There’s a community not too far from here called Hilltop. If ya give the leader my name, he’ll let ya stay. Then just down near the ocean, there’s Oceanside, Cyndie is a good person.”

“Why are you trying to help me?” you asked as he finished. 

“Yer a survivor. At some point, ya gotta stop movin’. Let yourself feel safe,” Daryl explained. “What’s the hurt in that?”

“There isn’t any,” you said, “but like I said, I’m not one for walls. I do better on my own.”

“Nobody does,” he disagreed. 

“Aren’t _you_ alone out here with your hunting, fishing, and your traps?” you asked with raised brows.

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “Just think about it, alright?”

“I gotta find who I’m lookin’ for, Daryl,” you said, smiling softly at him. 

“Who _are_ you looking for?” he asked. 

“I don’t know yet,” you finally admitted, “but I guess I’ll know when I find them. I just know it’s not here. These aren’t my people, but they are yours. Your niece and nephew, they’re gonna need all the family they can get. Go see them, even if it’s just for a day. You never know when the last time will be.” You got up from the ground, dusting off your jeans. 

“If ya need somewhere to sleep-” he said, but you cut him off. 

“Thanks, but I gotta keep movin’. But before I go,” you slipped your hand into your pocket and pulled out a piece of leather cord. At the end of it was a 1788 Virginia quarter. The coin was weathered from all the hands it had passed through. It had been given to you by a guy about a year ago when you came across him hiding out in an old middle school. You reached over and pressed it into Daryl’s hand. He looked at it with confusion. “Just to remember, you know?” He closed his fingers around the small token and nodded. 

“Thanks,” he said. “I hope ya find what yer lookin’ for, (Y/N),” he said and you knew he meant it. You offered your hand again and he gripped it. Letting go, you reached down and stroked Dog behind his ears. 

“Till we meet again, Daryl,” you said and then picked up your backpack and disappeared into the dark woods, smiling for the first time in a long time. 

Daryl watched after you, his thumb running over the silver coin in his hand. Dog nudged his other hand and Daryl obliged his furry companion, petting him down his back. Looking back at the flames he decided that tomorrow he would take a ride to Alexandria to see Judith and RJ. It had been too long and he needed to see his family.


End file.
